


hear my soul speak

by landfill_lady



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, Alternate Universe - Regency, Author is Pride & Prejudice Trash, Multi, Mutual Pining, Percival is Tina & Queenie's uncle ok don't question me, Slow Burn, gratuitous misunderstandings (in good ol' p&p style)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 09:17:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9432365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/landfill_lady/pseuds/landfill_lady
Summary: The word of Netherfield Hall's being let spread rapidly through the town of Meryton, as news of great social import is generally wont to do in the countryside. And it was news of great import: Although it had stood empty for many years, Netherfield Hall was a fine estate, fine enough that whoever had let it must be quite well off. The rumor also went that they were foreigners, which only served to inflame the imaginations of Meryton's citizens all the more.





	1. Netherfield Park is Let at Last

**Author's Note:**

> if you're into regency au's and haven't yet, you should definitely check out [woolworth manor](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9318506) by idiom! it's a lovely fic, and an incredibly original story (unlike this piece of trash, which is literally just pride and prejudice with gay marriage and fb characters... *sweats*)

The word of Netherfield Hall's being let spread rapidly through the town of Meryton, as news of great social import is generally wont to do in the countryside. And it was news of great import: Although it had stood empty for many years, Netherfield Hall was a fine estate, fine enough that whoever had let it must be quite well off. The rumor also went that they were foreigners, which only served to inflame the imaginations of Meryton's citizens all the more.

Indeed, so widely talked-of was the letting of Netherfield, that even the reclusive inhabitants of Longbourn estate heard of it almost a full month before the new tenants were set to arrive.

"Just think," Newton Scamander told his ward Credence dreamily one evening, his eyes shining with excitement. "A whole party at Netherfield, at last! And at least two of them bachelors, or so the rumors have it." At this last, his hazel eyes took on a familiar glint.

"I hope you will not contrive to match  _me_ up with either of them, Newt," Credence replied primly. Despite his asocial, bookish appearance, Newt was a hopeless romantic, and when not occupied by his studies, he delighted in trying to set his ward up with a suitable spouse.

"You are such a lovely, intelligent young man, Credence. I know you could find someone to love if only you tried."

“You know I have no wish for a match, Newt. I am quite happy to remain at Longbourn, with you,” Credence demurred smilingly, as he had many times before. "Besides, you know as well as I that the particulars of my - condition - would make cohabitation quite impossible."

At his desk, Newt frowned. "But you are so sweet, and have such good sense, that I cannot help but think that  _some_ worthy gentleman or other might look past your particular difficulty. And besides, the two of  _us_ live quite comfortably together."

Credence smiled a bit wider at this, but it was a strained expression. "You know as well as I that you are a great deal removed from most gentlemen, Newt, in terms of both habits and temperament. Now, had you not better be getting back to your manuscript?"

"You are quite right!" Newt cried, successfully distracted. "I received a new parcel of books only yesterday, considering the nature and habits of South American mammals, which I think will be quite useful to my work. Now, where on earth have I left it?"

As he began rifling through the papers on his desk, Credence went to see about supper, satisfied that the topic had been dropped. 


	2. The Ball at Seyclair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Even despite his convictions that they should have very little to do with each other in the future, he could not help gawking a bit at the people Lady Bathilda had pointed out. He had never met a Jewess before, let alone two, although the women in question looked very little like Credence had been led to expect: they were lithe and handsome-looking, and had neither the devil’s horns nor the long, hooked noses which Mrs. Barebone’s sermons had led Credence to expect. Their male companions were scarcely less fascinating: one mustachioed and almost cartoonishly stout, the other tall and statuesque._
> 
> _“Come, I shall introduce you,” Lady Bathilda said imperiously, taking Newt and Credence each by one elbow and leading them over._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i know this under-edited, overly-wordy chapter definitely wasn't worth over a month's wait, but systematically destroying my gpa takes time and effort guys! next chapter will be up eventually (hopefully before another month's passed, aaah)
> 
> for now, enjoy this spectacularly awkward evening featuring our favorite chronologically-misplaced witches & wizards! (and a cameo from another hogwarts textbook author because, well, _somebody_ had to throw the ball.)

The topic, however, had decidedly  _not_ been dropped, at least as far as Newt was concerned.

It transpired that, the same week that the new party were to arrive at Netherfield, a ball was to be held at the Lady Bagshot’s estate. Credence would have been quite happy to stay at home - as, he privately suspected, would Newt, if not for the new arrivals. Lady Bathilda was a dear friend, but neither Newt nor Credence particularly enjoyed balls: they were loud, and crowded, and one never knew quite what one was supposed to be doing. But Netherfield’s new holders had promised to attend, so Newt had cajoled Credence into making an appearance.

Credence had paid one of the gardner's boys a shilling to serve as their carriage-driver for the evening. As well as it usually suited them to keep no household staff at Longbourn, he absolutely _refused_ to let Newton drive his own horses about the countryside in fancy dress. Newt had consented to this eventually, although he kept sticking his head out the carriage window to reprimand the poor boy's horsemanship.

When they finally arrived at Seyclair, the estate was already swarming with finely-dressed gentlemen and ladies. It seemed as though the entire British countryside had gathered to make what they could of Netherfield's new arrivals. Credence was secretly rather glad of this - he had found through experience that it was much easier to go unnoticed in large crowds than small ones. Newt was far more ill-at-ease with large crowds, but the freckled zoologist squared his jaw all the same, giving Credence a reassuring squeeze to the elbow as they exited the carriage.

 As a liveried footman led them towards the ballroom, Credence caught sight of their reflection in a passing mirror. He thought privately that they looked quite well, apart from Newt's wayward hair and his own abysmal posture. He had mended their finest suits for the occasion, and sewn Newt a new waistjacket of fine blue silk which brought out his trim waist and bronze hair. Side-by-side, they looked almost as though they belonged at an ostentatious social function, rather than two awkward young bachelors who would have been much more at home in their own dusty library.

Credence tore his gaze away from the mirror after a moment, ashamed of his vanity - But then they were in the ballroom itself, and there was no room for self-remonstration as all Credence's mental faculties were abruptly redirected to keeping a firm hold of Newt's arm as they navigated a path through the crush of impeccably-dressed gentry.

 It took half-an-hour of careful maneuvering before they were able to find Lady Bathilda, boring a poor young man to tears with her extensive studies on the Crusades.

"Mr. Scamander, Mr. Barebone!" she exclaimed delightedly, switching topics without a moment's pause. (Her erstwhile conversational partner, who had taken the opportunity to make his escape, shot them a grateful look over her back.) "Have you met your new neighbors yet, my dears?"

They shook their heads dutifully.

"In that case, I had better introduce you to Mr. Graves, Mr. Kowalski, and the two Misses Goldstein," she said, indicating a particularly sharp-looking party of four some ways away. "They're  _American,_ " she added, looking significantly at Credence.

Credence very much doubted that even a shared nationality might interest any of the party in making an acquaintance with someone who had so little in the way of charm, social connexions, or wit as himself, but bit his tongue tactfully.

Even despite his convictions that they should have very little to do with each other in the future, he could not help gawking a bit at the people Lady Bathilda had pointed out. He had never met a Jewess before, let alone two, although the women in question looked very little like Credence had been led to expect: they were lithe and handsome-looking, and had neither the devil’s horns nor the long, hooked noses which Mrs. Barebone’s sermons had led Credence to expect. Their male companions were scarcely less fascinating: one mustachioed and almost cartoonishly stout, the other tall and statuesque.

“Come, I shall introduce you,” Lady Bathilda said imperiously, taking Newt and Credence each by one elbow and leading them over to the party. All four looked up curiously from what looked to be a heated private conversation as they approached, although only two - the blonde lady and the short, rotund gentleman - looked pleased at the interruption.

Introductions were soon made: the fair-haired lady was the younger Miss Goldstein, the brunette her elder sister, and the short gentleman was Mr. Kowalski, while his tall companion was Mr. Graves.

Despite his handsome bearing, Mr. Graves merely grunted and dipped his head in a quick nod. The elder Miss Goldstein was scarcely more eloquent, although Credence suspected her silence was due more to nerves than to rudeness - her hands were busily fussing with the pleats of her gown, and most of her attention seemed focused on sternly reminding herself not to chew at her lip.

To their credit, Mr. Kowalski and the young Miss Goldstein more than made up for their companions' rudeness with their cheery demeanor and seemingly endless fountain of conversation.

"You will have to forgive my uncle and my sister their rudeness," the latter apologized, shaking Credence firmly by the hand. "I am afraid they are still quite out-of-sorts from the journey; I do hope you will not hold it against them. 

"Not at all," Newt said chivalrously, kissing her hand as it was extended to him. "At any rate, it is quite a pleasure to make the acquaintance of you and your... cousin?"

Mr. Kowalski laughed heartily at this, while Mr. Graves' face adopted the expression of someone who had just eaten a lemon but didn't want to let on.

"Not quite, although Graves and I will soon be related, I'm afraid. Miss Goldstein and I are affianced."

"Our congratulations," Credence offered quietly, as Newt seemed dumbstruck by the sheer unlikeliness of the statement. "I am sure you will be very happy."

Miss Goldstein smiled blindingly at him. "Thank you, dear, we intend to. You and Mr. Scamander, are you...?"

Credence colored, embarrassed, although it was far from the first time someone had made the assumption. 

"Credence is my ward," Newt answered for him. "The two of us are both quite unattached, I'm afraid."

"Oh, how lovely!" she exclaimed, a merry twinkle in her eye. "The two of you simply  _must_ come visit us at Netherfield sometime. It's such a grand old place, I'm sure we will go quite distracted without company."

The elder Miss Goldstein, who had thus far remained as silent as her uncle, interrupted her sister at last with a sudden gasp. "Sir, something is crawling out of your button-hole!" she exclaimed, pointing at Newt's torso.

"Oh dear," Newt said mournfully, looking down at the small mass of quills emerging from his jacket-breast. "That'll be Niffler, I'm afraid. I  _thought_ my jacket seemed awfully lumpy."

The elder Miss Goldstein's eyes widened, disbelieving. "You mean to tell me that infernal creature is yours, sir?"

Newt frowned quite sternly at that, although the censurious effect was somewhat ruined by the furious blush running up to the tips of his ears. "He's not an infernal creature, he's an Australian echidna. And- oh, dear, I'd better go and catch him." 

This last was uttered somewhat dismally, as the Niffler's quilly behind disappeared into a mass of finely-polished shoes.

"Well, where shall we look for him first?" the elder Miss Goldstein asked sharply. 

"Er - I can find him myself really, there's no need-" Newt began, looking wrong-footed. 

"Really, Mr. Scamander. You can't just go around releasing spiky little menaces wherever you go. It simply isn't  _decent,_ " Miss Goldstein continued, as though she had never been interrupted.

 She seized him firmly by the arm, paying his stuttered protests no mind, and dragged him off into the crowd in the direction of the errant creature.

Credence maintained a polite conversation with the other Miss Goldstein and her beau for some minutes afterwards, doing his best to avoid the stoic, impassive gaze of their companion. Soon, the musicians struck up a waltz, at which the happy couple departed, and Credence removed himself a small ways in order to avoid an awkward exchange with the handsome, aloof Mr. Graves.

When the song ended and Mr. Graves was once again rejoined by his companions, Credence stayed where he was, but was not quite far enough away to escape hearing the ensuing conversation.

"Oh, uncle, you  _must_ try a dance," Miss Goldstein pestered, giggling. "The music here is so lovely, and I'm sure your leg is well enough for a reel by now." 

Her uncle sniffed dismissively. "You know I am not fond of dancing, Regina. Besides, who would you have me partner? You are spoken for already, and your sister is off chasing monsters; the rest of these insipid provincials hardly seem worth my time."

"You might try Mr. Barebone," Miss Goldstein suggested airily. "He seems a lovely, sweet-natured kind."

Credence felt a little thrill at the mention of his own name, especially with such praise attached to it.

Mr. Graves gave an inelegant snort. "What, that little churchmouse? He can barely look away from his own feet long enough to hold a conversation. No, thank you; it will take more than that to tempt  _me._ "

Credence's rage and mortification were at least short-lived: in short order, Newt emerged from the crowd, Niffler in tow, and they beat a tactical retreat homewards. 

"Well, it could have been worse," Credence said bracingly, patting Newt on the back as they settled into the carriage.

Newt shot him a baleful gaze from where he sat, hunched dramatically in on corner of the bench. "How on _earth_ could it have been worse?"

Credence bit his lip. "It could have been the boa constrictor."

Newt regarded him stoically for a moment longer before they both collapsed into a fit of exhausted giggles. 

**Author's Note:**

> (title from _the tempest_.)


End file.
